Traveling Sam Winchester Territory
by Ho-sama
Summary: He thought it would be easier than this. Ezekiel is wholly unprepared for the darkness and the emotions that make up Sam's soul. Traveling Sam Winchester Territory, he sees more than perhaps he believes he should. The angel uses everything at his disposal from within the Winchester to heal Sam's physical and emotional wounds.
1. The Gutters

**Title:** Traveling Sam Winchester Territory  
**Chapter:** The Gutters  
**Rating:** PG  
**Characters:** Sam and Ezekiel.  
**Spoilers:** Up to 9x2.  
**Warnings:** None.  
**Summary:** He thought it would be easier than this. Ezekiel is wholly unprepared for the darkness and the emotions that make up Sam's soul. Traveling Sam Winchester Territory, he sees more than perhaps he believes he should. The angel uses everything at his disposal from within the Winchester to heal Sam's physical and emotional wounds.

**A/N:** I got into a conversation with some people about Ezekiel being inside of Sam and I'm convinced Sam will be okay, even though everything I know about SPN is telling me not to trust Zeke. I just want to live in a happy lil bubble for a second and pretend that Zeke is totally giving Sam free therapy from the inside. Like a Soul Massage. Now, I'm aware that the show will probably prove me wrong in about 2 episodes, but shhhh... right now I just want to act like Sam's happy line from 9x2 was 100% real.

Btw, this is my first Sam-centered thing and I wrote it in about a day, so go easy on me. It's a three part thing that's going to be full of cheese and Sammy feels. This is totally a psychedelic, dreamy journey.

* * *

**The Gutters**

Ezekiel found himself in sludge. Now only a minuscule flare of light – a pitiful echo of what he had been – the wounded angel took residence in what was left of the vessel that had once been intended for Lucifer. Ezekiel began to drown as soon as he entered Sam Winchester's body.

Sam's veins were conduits of pain, sending memories of repeated tortures from one end of Sam's body to another. They were inescapable, dark vines. His flesh was inflamed by death, blood, and trauma that could never be spoken out loud. The membranes of Sam's cells were constructed of toxic thoughts and feelings that made everything around Ezekiel feel tight and weighty. Gasping, Ezekiel clawed through the vessel, praying to God for guidance and strength. Even fallen, Ezekiel prayed because old habits died hard and being inside Sam Winchester _hurt_.

_I can't breathe._

Ezekiel coughed, as if to expel his suffering, and the sensation startled him. His grace had never shuddered quite like this before. He was racked with violent, incessant hacks as he adjusted to the Winchester.

Gritty, and oozing soreness, a voice asked, "What did you _do_?"

_Get up, you fool._

"I can't. I can't breathe!"

It was Ezekiel, talking to himself. Sam's doubts and fears were infecting the angel. Delusional now, Ezekiel felt shadows of Lucifer hunting him with every step he took. Sam had seen and experienced things that no other being could have survived. Was Ezekiel an angel or a fly on the tread of a tire? Was he a savior or a footnote in The Book of Winchester? Ezekiel felt small.

_Run. Don't look back. Just RUN._

Ezekiel had inhabited many human vessels before, but none had ever filled him with the horror and grief he felt now. There was too much to fix and too much that could not be undone.

"How does he live at all?" he wondered out loud.

Struck, Ezekiel remembered that, for the moment, Sam lived because of _him_. The pulse of Heaven within Sam animated what should have failed. Though Sam's body had technically died, the sludge of his spirit and soul was in an even worse state. Ezekiel had underestimated the kinds of pain the young Winchester had endured. There were whole continents of Sam that could never be healed or scrubbed clean.

Ezekiel had told Dean there were only bad options for a reason. The heart, the brain, the veins, the lungs, and every other fleshy part of Sam could probably be mended as long as he held breath in his body, but Sam's spirit had already crumbled long ago. Ezekiel didn't know how to even begin healing what had been deemed irreparable so many times before.

_If he dies, you die._

Dripping with Sam's physical and metaphysical innards, Ezekiel gathered all his energy to move. Aware of his plight, he thought and planned. Somewhere, there was something he could fix. Somewhere, there were parts of Sam that were intact.

"I doubt that."

The voice was different. It did not belong to the injured angel; nor did it belong to Sam. Ezekiel turned abruptly and saw the memory of Lucifer smirking at him. The phantom did not take the image of the makeshift vessel the Dark One had taken while on Earth. Ezekiel saw Lucifer's true from in all of its brutal power. Countless pointed feathers filled his vision for a few frightening moments.

_It's not real._

"Go away." Ezekiel batted a fist in the direction of the Lucifer mirage and reminded himself that he was inside of Sam Winchester, the boy that had once saved the world. He held his breath and waded through Sam. As he journeyed, he exuded small bits of his power to heal whatever was in reach. He would be content to die in this task. It was more important to keep Sam alive than to live himself. Without Sam, there was no Ezekiel.

"You're a parasite, nothing more," Ezekiel muttered, alone in the dark. Heavy with Sam, he wept and his grace bled as it snagged on thorns that tore Sam in every direction. He kept moving, though he continually forgot why he tried at all. Ezekiel was raw and numb when he fell into the gutters that ran with blood.


	2. The House

**Title:** Traveling Sam Winchester Territory  
**Chapter:** The House  
**Rating:** PG  
**Characters:** Sam and Ezekiel.  
**Spoilers:** Up to 9x2.  
**Warnings:** None.  
**Summary:** Ezekiel's struggles within Sam's soul are alleviated when he comes across a small sanctuary. 

**A/N:** I don't know what I'm doing, but I sure like to write about Sammy's Mind Palace. It's real trippy, yo.

* * *

When Ezekiel finally came to, he felt lucky to be alive. He had been drifting unaware for so long that he felt stiff, like all of his bones had been broken and set hundreds of times. After traveling for an unknown period of time, Ezekiel opened his eyes and observed something new.

_Grass._

Ezekiel was no longer floating through sludge or struggling through vines, and he had fingers with which he could feel the green blades beneath him. Covered in dark matter, he moved gingerly. His dizziness caused by extreme pain began to subside and he regained his focus.

Alarmed by the sudden shift in his surroundings, he stood up quickly and found his face buried in softness. In the time he had been within Sam, Ezekiel had learned he could never know what to expect, but softness was very low on his list of All Things Sam that he anticipated encountering.

"Feathers," Ezekiel whispered and smiled as the white strands brushed over his face. A few of the plumes stuck to the muck film on his body and wiped away grime when they detached. Ezekiel knew these feathers. Their scent and shape were familiar because they belonged to his comrade, Castiel. Ezekiel, at last, felt a shower of comfort. He thrust his arms upwards to feel the giant angel feathers on his skin. Curtains of feathers caressed him as he ran through the vessel he thought was full of only darkness. Then, he tripped and landed on something cold and hard.

"_Ow_."

Shaking his head, Ezekiel blinked. He rubbed his smarting jaw and beheld his reflection upon glass. What was the word for this thing?

_Windshield._

Windshield wipers engaged and pushed the angel off. The Impala sprayed and wiped as if she was offended that an outsider would dare touch her in such a discourteous manner. Ezekiel slid off the hood of the Impala, wondering why he was inwardly referring to the car with female pronouns. Her engine huffed.

Ezekiel was a stranger in this land, but he knew the car was important. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Aren't you normally black?" he asked.

Strangely, the Impala was white.

"On second thought, don't answer that," he said when he realized he was talking to a car. The Impala flashed a gleaming, gorgeous black for an instant before again becoming white. She was white like the face of the moon – absolutely radiant. All fingerprints and breaths left by Ezekiel on her had vanished. The polished Impala sat still, in front of the house.

A house attached to the name 'Bobby' stood in front of the fallen angel. The paint on the siding and the shingles of the roof had faded to pale, eggshell hues and dusty browns. Though it was old, the wooden home was sturdy and welcoming. Ezekiel breathed in deeply for the first time since entering Sam. He had found _it_, whatever it was. It was something that could help him save Sam.

This place was just as strange to him as the rest of Sam had been, but it was considerably more beautiful. When he glanced up, Ezekiel saw a sky forever shifting slowly between sunset and starlight. He heard the soft, unintelligible voice of a man as though he was half-asleep. Ezekiel could not distinguish a single syllable, but he knew the murmur was Dean. When he closed his eyes, Ezekiel heard faint, bluesy tunes from a jukebox that belonged in a roadhouse – _The_ Roadhouse.

The angel focused back on the house and noticed something he recalled being named a 'clothesline.' A white dress with a low, lace collar hung from the clothesline, clean and safe. A white nightgown hung beside it, blowing gently in the wind. Ezekiel's lips parted as he tried to make sense of the garments before him.

"What are you doing here?"

_Sam._

Finally, the Winchester himself had appeared. Ezekiel spun around to face the legend and found himself embarrassed. Everything he saw, breathed, heard, and felt was very private and very dear. Even the distant scent of apple pie wafting in the air had a personal, sensitive fragrance.

"Do you not remember?"

Sam gave Ezekiel a hardened, aggravated look that reminded Ezekiel of the car and her indignant engine. Everything around Sam had a rightful place except for Ezekiel.

"My apologies." Ezekiel straightened up. Remembering the human gesture, he held out his hand. "My name is Ezekiel. We have met before."

Sam didn't take his hand. Instead, he stared at Ezekiel with distrust and a hint of fear. "You don't belong here."

Ezekiel picked up on the resentment in Sam's voice and stuttered in reply, "I…I know that. That's why I beg your forgiveness. Trust me, Sam, this is not my ideal situation. I wouldn't be here if I thought there was another way."

"How do you know my name?" Sam clenched his fists, ready to protect the small patch of sanity he had left. "Who _are_ you?"

"Ezekiel," the angel repeated, confused. "I – "

"But _who_ are you and why didn't you answer my question?"

_What are you doing here?_

"I'm an angel."

The phrase settled in Sam's fragile essence and his core continued to glimmer cautiously. Ezekiel elaborated, "I'm here to heal you… and… to heal myself."

He found it hard to lie to Sam's soul, especially when he was being scrutinized with such large, uneasy eyes. Sam broke eye contact, responding with a heavy sigh and wry comment. "Oh, that sounds about right."

"So you remember?" Ezekiel stepped towards Sam. "You sound disappointed."

Through the wind, the murmur distinctly whispered: _Angels are dicks._

"He's got a point," Sam shrugged and smirked, avoiding answering Ezekiel directly.

"I am not a – " Ezekiel struggled, fidgeting on his feet. " – a _dick_. I give you my word that I am here to help you."

"Am I dead?" Sam replied, cocking his head to the side.

"No." Feeling the pressure of Sam, Ezekiel amended his statement. "Not yet. Well, you were. You're not anymore, because I'm inside you."

Ezekiel's statements made Sam's skin crawl. The wind seemed to chuckle, which made Sam roll his eyes. Now was not the time for immature, sexual jokes. Sam was trying to make sense of the situation as much as Ezekiel was. "You're inside me?" Sam puffed.

_Shut up, Dean. _Sam hated stating the obvious, but the circumstances were so strange, they bore repeating.

"Yes."

"Can you do that?" Sam glared. "I didn't invite you. If you're really an angel, you need my consent to be here at all."

Holy water rained all over Ezekiel's grace in a fierce, concentrated torrent. The angel was drenched, his hair plastered to his face. "I am not a demon," Ezekiel reassured Sam and calmly brushed the wet hair out of his eyes.

"That doesn't really comfort me."

"You said yes to your brother," Ezekiel explained.

"Not to you," Sam countered.

_Parasite._

Ezekiel swallowed. He had been underhanded, which was something he knew Sam had experienced too much of in his life. They had found an unethical loophole. "You said yes to your brother… That you would fight… and I am here to help you fight."

"My brother sent you? He knows about this?"

Sam could only recall bits and pieces of whatever had occurred. Ezekiel didn't blame him, considering Sam had been dead at the time of their agreement. He had all but taken Death's hand to continue his otherworldly journey through the door.

"Your brother knows and he did send me."

The feathery drapes near the Impala fluttered and made gentle, musical sounds like holy wind chimes. Ezekiel noted that they flickered from white to black as the Impala had done and that they formed a ring around the space that they occupied. Castiel's feathers hung from silver strings that faded into the sky, attaching to nothing at all. They were a protective forest, buffering them from the parts of Sam that hurt to be seen.

Not all angels were dicks. Sam had once let Castiel heal him. Granted, Cas had been healing damage he himself had helped cause. There were other times Castiel had proven his worth and his loyalty. He had pulled Sam from the Pit, he had saved him from countless demons and angels, and Sam was sure he wouldn't hesitate to do those things again, if needed. Castiel often broke what he touched, but he fixed what he could. More importantly, Castiel had revived Dean. The first act of the angel in their lives had been one that would forever endear him to Sam. Without Castiel, there would be no Dean.

_There ain't no me if there ain't no __**you**__!_

Sam trembled from the force of the emotion that blared within his being. The voice wasn't subtle, but Sam brushed it away so he could focus on the newcomer.

Cas, an angel, had a place within Sam's sane real estate and he did have faith in his brother. If Dean had sent Cas, Sam wouldn't have questioned it at all, but he had sent Ezekiel instead. Sam trusted Dean to the ends of the Earth, and couldn't imagine that he would knowingly send him a bad angel. Slowly, but surely, the Winchester eased in Ezekiel's presence. Ezekiel had been listening because no inner thoughts of Sam's were truly concealed anymore.

"You know Castiel," Sam stated. He knew without Ezekiel saying it because he had an intimate connection to the angel through their marriage of convenience. Ezekiel could see everything within Sam and Sam could glean unshared details from Ezekiel from just his presence.

"Yes," Ezekiel replied. When he vibrated with positive feelings, Sam nodded in approval. None of this changed the loud wish humming within Sam. _I wish he had sent Cas_.

"You'll have to make due with me," Ezekiel frowned. "There isn't much time, Sam. There is yet much work to do and I must begin immediately if you are to live."

"I thought you said I wasn't dead."

"You are hanging on by a mere _thread_." Ezekiel insisted, gesturing with his fingers to express the urgency of their situation. Sam observed the filth of his soul that was covering the angel before him and he fell silent. He wondered when he was not hanging by that thread. Ezekiel was getting impatient. His vessel, so far, was not adhering to his promise to fight. Sam was questioning and doubting, when other humans would be rejoicing at the fact that an angel was willing to bring them to health.

When the angel next blinked, Sam Winchester had disappeared. He voiced an Enochian expression of frustration and ran to the Impala where Sam's soul had gone to hide. Sam sat in the passenger seat as he always did.

"Sam, please come out," Ezekiel pleaded after opening the driver's side door. He needed Sam more than he cared to admit. Sam's pensive and guarded soul refused to acknowledge Ezekiel. Growing ever wearier, the angel made a move to sit beside Sam.

"You can't sit there!" Sam cried, horrified that the newcomer would have the nerve to take the driver's seat in that car of all cars.

More Enochian curses filled their small sanctuary. Ezekiel slammed the door and made his desperate, limping way to the house. As he did so, he fell and uttered a cry of agony. If he didn't bond more successfully with Sam, he would deteriorate and possibly become engulfed within him, extinguished forever. Sam peered at Ezekiel through the rearview mirror.

_Look at you. How are you supposed to help me when you can barely stand?_

"I can…" Ezekiel panted. "I can help."

Inside the house, Ezekiel left a bloody trail from the front door to the bathroom. He collapsed into Bobby's bathtub where he remained until he was clean. Lucifer, Jessica, Ruby, and Mary swirled down the drain. "I know you are tired, Sam," Ezekiel spoke, sounding more tired than Sam's soul looked. "We can find something here that can help. This is a good place."

Ezekiel showered again. He refilled the tub. He took so many showers and baths that he felt like a madman. The sludge still felt there even when it was gone. His wounds from his fall were clean, but he wasn't healing fast enough. Reclining in the full tub, Ezekiel closed his eyes and slept.

_We can find it together, if you help me._

* * *

"Dude, do you know how weird it is to have you take a shower in my brain?"

Ezekiel gasped into awareness and wondered how long he had slept. He was sitting in the living room, wearing a plush black robe. Ezekiel was clean, but riddled with fresh scars. "'Weird' is quite the understatement for all of this."

_Technically, we're in your soul, not your brain, but you know that. Why are you looking at me like that?_

For the first time since meeting him, Sam grinned. Now that Sam had joined him in the house, the Winchester seemed younger. "I brought you here because I think I found what we need. It's this, isn't it?" Sam waved a hand to the books around them. Bobby's living room wasn't quite _his_ living room because his library extended for at least twenty-five feet above their heads – an ethereal library full of all the knowledge Sam could ever know. "You came in here for these, didn't you?"

When the angel got up from the chair he was in, he revealed shades of a bony wing structure missing most of its feathers. "No. You must know this isn't it. Perhaps this can help in some way, but there's something else in this house. Listen, we haven't the time!" Ezekiel muttered and hobbled around the house like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

"Why? Are you late for a very important date?" Sam replied with misplaced levity. He followed Ezekiel.

"How can you tease in this situation?" Ezekiel barked.

"Gotta laugh to keep from crying." Sam shrugged. _I am following a naked dude in my not-brain. It's funny if you think about it._

Ezekiel was in the kitchen now, searching for tools. He grabbed a container of salt, unsure of how he would use it.

"You don't even know what you're doing." Sam crossed his arms as he watched.

"Are all Winchesters this obstinate? I asked for your help – not for jokes and not for criticism." Ezekiel tapped his foot, reminding Sam more and more of Alice's rabbit. He continued to follow the frayed angel out of curiosity more than anything else. Ezekiel truly did not know what he was doing, but he did know that the longer he stayed inside of Sam, keeping his physical form alive, the weaker he became. The showers and baths had helped, but they would not sustain him. Ezekiel traveled to a source of power that was dim, but impressionable and very necessary.

_The basement._

Ezekiel rushed to the basement. He stumbled and dropped the salt in the hall, scattering the contents of the container everywhere. When he touched the door, Sam stayed his hand, wearing an expression that was grim and stern.

"Let me inside," Ezekiel begged.

"No."

Ezekiel's eyes pleaded. _Please._

"You can't go in there."

"What's in there is something I need. Sam, I am dying."

"You can't. Just don't." Sam closed his eyes, knowing that they would swell with tears if they remained open. "I let you take a bath. I'm letting you stay because of Dean, but you can't go in there. Anywhere, but there."

Sam was trying to shield Ezekiel from what was inside the basement, but Ezekiel knew.

_John._

"Your father?" Ezekiel asked. Cas, Bobby, Dean, Jess, and Mary were all on display within the soulscape of the tall Winchester, but his father was mysteriously absent. Hidden. "He's in there, isn't he?"

"I asked you nicely, Zeke." Sam's tears swelled and spilled over his cheeks. "It's fine in there… it's safe. Just leave it alone."

Ezekiel considered dropping the subject, but he couldn't. There was too much power in the basement of the old house. He thought he understood how something with so much protective power could also be a source of pain, but he prodded Sam anyway. "Tell me about your father."

Ezekiel needed to know. If they were going to work together, they needed all of Sam. Ezekiel could have wrenched the information from him, but it would have more value if given freely. _Please, Sam_.

In the realm they were in, Sam was much larger than Ezekiel, but he was currently full of the innocent fear of a child. He knew Ezekiel could take what he wanted, so he spoke to explain things on his terms. Sam spoke to keep Ezekiel from making his own conclusions.

"We shouted more than we spoke."

That was all Sam had the strength to say. Ezekiel had not let go of the doorknob to the basement. Sam's grip was loosening and Ezekiel was sure he could get inside if only he pushed. The angel urged him again, "What else, Sam?"

Sam let go of the basement door to furiously wipe his face. In a shaking voice, he replied, "You know damn well I never was what he wanted me to be."

Ezekiel didn't budge from Sam's side, though the door was unguarded. He watched with concern as the Winchester sobbed. "Tell me more," Ezekiel said gently.

There was a long, mournful pause before Sam whispered, "I can't have what's in there. I don't deserve it."

Sam cried until his palms were slick from rubbing his face. His eyes were red as he thought what he could not verbalize. _My first sin was against him. I killed his wife – Dean's _mom_. I killed mom because I…_

_**I was born wrong**_**.**

Sam slumped against the wall near the door, hiccupping. He had never been a 'problem child' as Dean had been. He had just been a problem. He was sorrier about burdening his family with suffering than he was about anything else in his life. Sam was certain that he had been the cause of the violent rupture of their family and that was unforgivable.

Ezekiel saw that his will to fight was limited because he didn't think he should have ever been born. Sam couldn't see through his tears, but he did feel two firm hands holding his face. When Sam squinted his weeping eyes open, he saw Ezekiel peering up at him.

_Listen to me carefully._

Ezekiel's lips moved in a deliberate way so that Sam could hear every solid word, "Infants cannot murder."

Sam nodded, but he could not cease his shaking sobs. He wanted to believe Ezekiel. He could feel that the angel, at least, believed he was being truthful. At his core, Sam agreed that babies couldn't be malicious, but he was not resolute. He was not convinced of anything.

"If you don't believe me, let's go inside," Ezekiel suggested. "We can go together."

He hadn't let go of Sam's face. Touching him soothed both the vessel and the angel. "You won't like it in there," Sam croaked. _He didn't like me._

"Come along, Sam."

Ezekiel had to open the door because Sam was too frail and frightened to turn the knob. Sam held onto Ezekiel's shoulders to steady them both as the angel made the descent into the dark room.

_Where is the light?_ Ezekiel wondered. Angelic powers could not light the basement. By definition, the room was gloomy. In the dimness, Ezekiel could still see a number of objects around them.

With each step he took, Ezekiel saw tools of Sam's trade. There were three sawed-offed shotguns in the corner. Chains, rope, and revolvers were piled everywhere. Silver blades of all shapes and sizes took up shelves. Three machetes and a blade sharpener sat on one of the tables, glimmering for an instant.

_Make sure it's sharp before you take it to a vampire, boys. Don't hold back when you swing._

There were demon traps on every inch of the walls and the floors. They were the ones Sam had once drawn under his father's watchful eye. Sam heard his father complimenting his skill and he saw him smiling as he retold a story of how he had surprised a demon by drawing a trap on the ceiling.

_Arrogant bastards never see it coming._

John's cellar wasn't filled with anything pleasant. In fact, Ezekiel thought it looked like a toy store for a serial killer. He could hear that Sam thought much the same. Nothing about this was normal and everything was deadly. Sam was on his toes and vigilant as he kept close to Ezekiel, practically burying his face into the tattered plumes clinging to Ezekiel's bones. "Can we go now?" Sam murmured.

There was nothing of angel softness here. There weren't any whispered jokes or rooms of comfort. The basement was all sharpness and darkness. It was bullets, bombs, maniacal, steadfast drive and knowledge of the hunt.

"Not just yet," Ezekiel answered. What they needed wasn't guns or knives. He searched through piles of stuff until he found the object that had called to him from the upper level. In the very back of the basement, Ezekiel came across an item with a smooth texture. "Yes! Here it is!"

"Dad's journal." Sam considered snatching the book from Ezekiel, but he remained still and thoughtful.

"Yes, take it. It's yours," Ezekiel said to Sam, offering him the book. Rather than accepting the book, Sam hesitated and glanced away. His vision halted before an antique standing mirror that had been pushed against the wall. The mirror was murky with mold, but there was a pale blur that beckoned Sam.

"_Mom?_" Sam began to cry yet again because he knew she was watching from the other side. He couldn't make her out, but she was there. "What are you doing here?"

"You know that very well," Ezekiel commented. The Winchester was so intelligent and yet he failed to see why he needed this room. His mother and father were inseparable. John had not always been what she had wanted, but she loved him all the same. Sam tried to clean the mirror to get a better look at her, but his attempt was in vain. _Why won't you clean?_ Sam wondered, continuously weeping.

_What am I supposed to do, Mom?_ He had known her touch and love for six months and yet she was never clearer to him than a blur. Sam only knew the blur was her because of the way he felt and because she was with John.

Mary wasn't happy, but she was resolute. She wanted Sam to take the journal.

"I'll take it if you want me to take it," Sam said. "I'll do anything for you. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I killed you."

_I'm sorry_.

Again, Sam crumpled into himself. He realized now that his father's basement might have been full of wonderful things if only John had fathered one son instead of two. The blur in the mirror was barely a dim glow, but she did glow with a forceful power that hit Sam full in his body and knocked him off his feet. There was nothing to be sorry about, she said. She had died to protect him and she would do it again without question because she loved him. Her love was the most precious thing in the entire basement… except for the journal. The journal didn't speak, but it noiselessly demanded to be read and to be kept.

"Your father bequeathed this to you and Dean for a reason," Ezekiel said, running a caring hand down Sam's back. "He did not teach you all of these things because he hated you."

Sam couldn't stop crying. He was a mess, but he clutched his dad's journal close to his heart. As he held it, it burned with stony judgment and unkindness. The journal echoed drunken tirades and belittling comments. Sam didn't want to take it with him, but he knew he had to.

"He protected you with that, and you're going to need it now. _We_ are going to need it. Take it, for both of our sakes," Ezekiel offered Sam a hand and he pulled him up off the floor. As ridiculous as it felt to cry so profusely in front of a strange angel, it did make Sam feel better. When Sam felt better, Ezekiel felt better.

John wanted him to fight. He trusted Sam with all of his knowledge and he knew his boys would be _better _than he had been. Sam made his way up the stairs, hearing his father's rallying cries until he shut the door behind him.

The hallway in Bobby's house was a stark contrast from the interior of the basement. It was still and calm. Sam could focus on Ezekiel better now that he was out of the darkened space that belonged to his father.

"This is where you come from," Ezekiel said to Sam, never breaking eye contact. His hands overlapped Sam's on top of the journal. "It has helped you survive before and it will help again."

Sam nodded, and in hushed tones, replied, "Thank you."

"Think nothing of it, my friend." Ezekiel patted Sam on his shoulder. Their continued interaction brought Ezekiel closer to him to the point that he began to see Sam as more of a brother than he did before. They both heard the urgent honking of a car horn coming from outside.

Worried, Ezekiel said, "We are still quite short on time."


End file.
